


Failure

by JokesterWrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal, Blowjobs, Domination, Humilation, M/M, Unsafe Sex Practices, handjobs, shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokesterWrites/pseuds/JokesterWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor has to earn back Oswald's trust after he fails a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failure

**Author's Note:**

> From my Tumblr prompt list.

“You were supposed to kill him!” Oswald screamed at Victor, his hand slamming down on the table. “What do I even pay you for!”

Victor shifted awkwardly, his stance uncomfortable and his shoulder still aching where he’d dug the bullet out. He knew Oswald would be furious. Even he was angry at himself, but he hadn’t expected the GCPD to have a fucking firing squad waiting. Victor certainly enjoyed a taste of danger, but he wasn’t willing to get shot down in a alley by some pigs. The rumours were now confirmed. The GCPD no longer bent under the weight of Gotham’s underbelly.

His arrogance had gotten the best of him. Instead of instructing his girls to join him, he had gone alone. The less others knew about Penguin’s business the better. Plus how much of a fight would one old fat civilian put up? Too much apparently.

“Everyone else get out.” Oswald snarked, his eyes dark and frantic as he threw himself into his throne. “I must deal with this….. idiot.” Victor bristled at those words, his gloved hands clenching into fists. But he didn’t move.

Oswald’s eyes were bright and angry as he leaned back into his carved wooden chair. “What to do with you…” Oswald sneered, running his gaze up and down Victor.

For someone very rarely intimidated, Victor suddenly felt very exposed. “Kneel.” Victor didn’t move. Oswald frowned, “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned, fingers gripping the arms of his chair.  
Victor dropped to his knees hard, letting the sharp shoots of pain run up his legs. He deserved this. He knew he had failed a simple job. “Crawl to me.” Victor swallowed harshly, his adam’s apple bobbing predominantly before he fell forward and slowly crawled to Cobblepot’s side. Oswald smiled, a harsh look in his eyes as he pulled a marker out, holding the capped end up to Victor’s mouth. The hitman glanced up at his boss in confusion. “Uncap it, or is that beyond your talents?”.

Victor grasped the end between his teeth and Oswald gave a sharp yank to uncap it, before Victor spit the cap across the floor. He held Victor’s head tightly as he wrote “FAILURE” in large bold strokes across it. They stood out in stark contrast, the black ink against alabaster skin. The hitman squeezed his eyes closed, each letter a mark against him that he accepted begrudgingly. It had been so long since he’d made a mistake on the job and been properly punished for it. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until Oswald gripped his chin firmly, “Breathe.” his boss commanded, and Victor let out a long rattling breath. “Tonight you’re just a hole. Just something to be used and thrown away. Then you’re going to never fail me again. Do you understand?”

Victor didn’t say anything, his lips sealed as he glowered at Oswald with animosity. It felt like he was being pulled two ways. Part of him just wanted to say fuck it and walk out, but the other part of him demanded he pay his price for failing.

Oswald’s mouth tightened, lips thinning out. “I said, do you understand?”

Victor nodded, a mere tilt of his head. This wasn’t enough for Oswald. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He screamed, spittle flying, his barely contained rage ever more prominent in the flash of his eyes and the flaring of his nose.

The hitman brought up a glove to wipe at the droplets of spit and Oswald smacked his hand out of the way. “Leave it. Now do you understand? Use your fucking words, or are you stupid as well?  
Victor gave him a glare. “I understand.” He admitted stiffly. Oswald relaxed back, “Good. Now strip.”

A shiver ran through Victor’s body and he got to his feet, knees aching from the hard floor. Oswald’s piercing eyes followed his movements, his chin resting against his hand as he waited. His shoulder still throbbed in pain, a prelude to further pain that would be inflicted upon his body. The sound of his clothes hitting the floor was muffled and finally Victor stood awkwardly, feeling so very exposed and vulnerable in front of a man he had once been able to intimate with a single look.

“The briefs too.” Oswald smirked, motioning with his hands at the last remaining piece of Victor’s dignity. Victor’s eyes pleaded with Oswald but there was no give there, no parlay. So he shed the last of his protection, hands covering himself as the coolness of the room nipped at his skin.

Oswald let him stand there, merely studying the panes of his chest, pausing to take note of the bandage spotted with blood on Victor’s shoulder. The harsh red tally marks scattered up one arm, the other far more tame in comparison, the scars older and more silver in colour. Then he moved on to the smoothness of his stomach, following to the delve of his hips, where Victor’s hands were covering a sizable cock that Oswald had glimpsed earlier.

“Completely hairless…how interesting.” Oswald commented, swigging wine in his mouth. The redness staining his lips darker. Victor shifted his weight, uncomfortable about talking about his appearance. He already knew how unusual he was. He’d heard it his entire life. Bullies on the school yard calling him names, kicking him to the ground because of something he couldn’t control. It wasn’t until highschool when he found his ground and stopped caring what other people thought. But right now, it all rushed back. The humiliation, the helplessness, and Victor somehow relished in it.

With a shooing motion, Victor was instructed to step back while Oswald got up. His eyes were on Oswald’s fingers as they slowly unfastened his clothes, the jacket sliding off and hanging over the back of his chair, followed by his waistcoat. The suspenders he dropped, and he only paused to unbuckle his belt and slide it through the loops of his trousers.

“Get on your knees.”

There was no elegant way of doing this. Victor slowly bent under Oswald’s unwavering gaze, and then his eyes widened with surprise when Oswald looped the belt around his neck, creating a makeshift collar and lease.

“Now that’s what a failure looks like. Like a little bitch.” Oswald’s words were harsh, and Victor felt shame and humiliation cascade over his body. He was a bitch, not even a man who could do his job right. So he just bowed his head, waiting for the first blow to strike his body. No doubt Oswald would take his payment in flesh, marking it with anger.

But no blow ever came. Instead his ears caught the unwanted sound of a zipper dropping, and he looked up at Oswald in shock as the man tossed his thick cock in his fist, bringing it to life. Victor suddenly realized this was going far beyond what he had ever imagined. 

“Boss please…” The protest died on Victor’s lips as he looked up at Oswald. His boss had a vindictive smile on his face, it was uncaring and authoritative. “Hush Victor. Take your punishment.” Oswald’s voice was oilily, and he pried Victor’s mouth open, forcing the jaw wide and Victor grunted at the pressure and ache of it. He knew this was only going to get worse.

Oswald’s cock was half hard, and he shoved it in Victor’s mouth, and let out a groan at the moist warmth he felt around it. “You know, I could almost imagine you as a hairless little cunt.” Oswald sneered, hips jerking hard into Victor’s mouth as he grew to full size. “Maybe you could take up prostitution since it seems you’re good for nothing else.” The sounds were wet and sloppy as he quickened his pace. Victor didn’t make a noise , just closed himself off from how used he felt, how so very degrading this all was. He tried to relax his throat, to suppress the automatic gag reflex that caused him to choke as the head of Oswald’s dick rammed into the back of his throat.

“If I let go of your mouth, will you suck my cock willingly?” Oswald asked, his fingers still hooked around Victor’s teeth. The man glanced up at him, and made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat that vibrated around Oswald’s twitching cock. The pressure disappeared from his jaw, those harsh fingers no longer being used to retract him open further than necessary. Victor set to work, bobbing his head and sliding his tongue along the underside of Oswald’s throbbing cock. Maybe if he got him off soon, this would all be over. He hollowed his cheeks out, sucking diligently on the head, eyes looking up at his boss waiting for praise.

None came. He merely watched, as though entirely uninterested in how good Victor’s wet mouth felt around his cock. There was no way he would give that satisfaction. Nor would he give him the satisfaction of blowing early, not when he had other plans. Oswald uttered a command.

“Stop.”

Victor ceased his motions, slackening his jaw and Oswald pulled out, the long opaque string of mixed saliva and precum connecting the tip of his dick to Victor’s pinkened lips. He liked this, how degraded Victor looked, and the flash of self hate when Oswald smacked his cheek lightly with his wet cock.

He guided Victor down on his hands and knees to the hard wooden floor. Oswald ran his hands all over Victor, feeling each inch of skin. He tapped his fingers along the curve of his ribs, as though playing a morbid melody only he could hear. Victor had to remember how to breathe. His anxiety was skyrocketing, knowing that this was leading elsewhere. The simple task of pushing oxygen in and out of his lungs now seemed like a long forgotten skill. Oswald’s touch was feather light and Victor’s body responded to it positively, ignoring the unwilling mind. His cock twitched eagerly, and Oswald gave a low chuckle as his hand trailed over the member. Victor’s hips jerked, automatically craving the fleeting touch that had left him in such a state .

“I don’t think so.” Oswald muttered, leaving the peripherals of Victor’s vision.

Victor bit the inside of his cheek as he felt Oswald rustling behind him. The cool breeze of the room caused his skin to prickle, and a coil of fear blossomed in his gut. He was almost thankful for how Oswald was going to take him. The other man wouldn’t see the emotions he knew his face would try and betray, He flinched when he felt the warm smack of spit dribble down the crease of his ass as Oswald’s clever firm fingers pulled his cheeks apart, baring that tight puckered hole. The muscles of his stomach tightened and Victor curled his hands into fists, nails scraping along the floor. Perhaps soon this would be over.

Oswald let out a huff of satisfaction at the quiver that ran through Victor’s spine. He grasped his cock, sliding the head around in the poor lubrication. But this wasn’t supposed to be pleasant, this was supposed to teach Victor never to disobey him again. If the hitman enjoyed it, he would continue to fail just for a lesson like this, and Oswald couldn’t let that happen. So he shoved in hard, stretching resistant muscles that tried to push him out. Victor’s voice caught in a strangled sob, and Oswald reached forward, digging fingers into his injured shoulder. In some ways this helped Victor center himself, allowing him to focus on the sharp jagged pain of his shoulder, instead of the aching tear of muscles caused by Oswald’s rough intrusion. 

“That’s it, my little bitch.” Oswald snarled over him, sliding his bloody palm across Victor’s back, and then grasping those hard hips as he leveraged himself, drawing Victor onto his weeping cock over and over again. Tongue swiped out over his bottom lip, and then teeth following, sinking into the plump skin as he looked down, watching his cock disappear repetitively into Victor’s tight ass. Victor suddenly let out a odd whining sound, like he was trying to keep it in. Oswald knew what it was however, and brought about a fresh wave of short jerking thrusts which had Victor’s pushing back into him of his own accord.

The harsh pain was slowly being clouded over by pleasure as the head of Oswald’s cock brushed over Victor’s g-spot, and then Victor lost all reason. He didn’t care he was being degraded. He didn’t care Oswald was fucking him like a cheap whore. All he cared about was that his cock was now rock hard, and Oswald was bringing him closer and closer to completion just by penetration alone.

But he really should have known better then to announce it. “Fuck… harder… I’m so close.”

Oswald let out a strangled laugh that reverberated in the room, “You don’t deserve to cum, bitch.” He pulled out, teasing Victor’s hole with just the tip of his cock. An action that made Victor push his hips back desperately. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he moved his weight back, freeing one hand to fist around his cock hungrily. Oswald growled at this disobedience, wrapping a hand around the ends of the leather belt and tugging. It tightened around Victor’s pale throat and he gasped, releasing his cock and instead reaching for the band of leather threatening to cut away his air supply.  
“You don’t get to cum. Hands behind your back.” Oswald stated, his eyes flashing as he shuffled to the front of Victor, looking down his nose at the man so wanton before him. He certainly looked a wreck, body flushed, his cock hard and reddening, twitching, with the tip glistening as Victor’s hips tried humping the air, as though he could get some relief that way. Oswald fisted his own cock, drawing it in slow languid strokes while he looked into Victor’s bottomless dark eyes. He was going to paint this bitch with his cum.

“Open your mouth.” Oswald commanded, and Victor obeyed, flat pink tongue just peeking out, waiting for his treat. His boss smirked, moving his pace along his shaft faster. Then his balls tightened and Oswald let out a long sigh of relief. He spurted, thick ropes of cum landing over Victor’s face, glazing over Victor’s patient tongue, and dribbling down the sides of his cheeks and finally sliding off in little droplet’s onto his chest. He didn’t draw it in, just let the salty mixture lie over his tongue, looking up at Oswald pleadingly.

“Good bitch,” Oswald praised, admiring his masterpiece. “Swallow it.” Victor’s mouth closed with a snap, and then he was swallowing the taste with a grimace. Oswald smiled, collecting a run of liquid over his fingers and shoving them into Victor’s mouth. He didn’t even need to demand that the hitman suck. Like a good little slut, Victor suckled and cleaned Oswald’s fingers, finally releasing them with a wet popping sound.

“Very good.” Oswald bent, kissing the top of Victor’s head, a rare spot that wasn’t covered in obscene juices. “Now put your clothes back on, the sight of you disgusts me.”

Victor’s stomach dropped, and shame filled him. The throbbing need of his cock was forthright in his mind though, and he tried to subtly slid his palm along it.

“Did I say you could cum?” Oswald didn’t miss a thing as he neatly layered his own clothes back on, looking as impeccable as when Victor had first walked in.

“No.”

“No, what?” He pushed the matter, pleased at Victor’s sulking behavior.

“No, sir. You didn’t say I could cum.” The hitman was done with this now. His ass was sore, both his shoulder and jaw ached, and his cock just wanted some relief. So he hurriedly put his clothes back on, wincing when he shifted a certain way, and tucking his weeping cock into the waistband of his briefs in hopes it would either go away soon, or that he would excuse himself for a quick handjob outside.  
Victor’s next mistake was thinking he could leave. Oswald snapped his fingers, and he stilled, hand still on the door. “You will let Butch in, and then you will come back here.”

He tried to quell the shake in his hand, the palms still red from all the pressure he’d put on them being rocked forward on the floor. But the handle gave way, and Victor drank in the sight of the corridor, an escape from the nightmarish scenario he’d just enacted.

“Butch!” Oswald’s nasally voice rang out and the large man glided past Victor, uncomfortable fear still inset from his conditioning. This gave Victor some sense of power, but that was soon squashed when he saw the look on Oswald’s face.

It was twisted with sickening pleasure. “Now Victor, I know you have a little problem.” Those sharp eyes centered at Victor’s crotch, “I want you to get yourself off on anything in this room, without the use of your hands. I want you walking out of here with cum stained over your pants like the nasty little bitch that you are.”

Victor glanced at Butch,who gave him a awkward smile. It was bad enough what he’d let Oswald do to him, but now to be told to rut like some kind of horny teenager against anything he could gain some friction from in front of Butch was a horrifying. Victor ground his teeth, before taking a deep breath and concentrating on the throb of his cock. He contemplated the room, already knowing with dread his two choices in the end would be Butch or Oswald.

And that smug bastard knew it. He was simply waiting for Victor to make a decision.

Oswald ended up being his decision. He couldn’t put himself through the mortification of using Butch’s body as his own personal relief. Not like this. Having Butch as a witness to all this was terrible enough.

So he balanced himself over Oswald’s leg, using the firm thigh to rub his erection against. Oswald had mischievous delight twinkling in his eye as he looked up at Victor, the man bracing his arms overhead. “What a little slut you are.” Oswald murmured, pushing his knee up, and Victor groaned. His hips snapped, rutting over Oswald, knowing the sick pleasure that his boss was taking from all this.  
“Isn’t he just a little slut, Butch?” Oswald called out, before gulping some more wine down. His breath reeked of it, the sweet intoxicating scent rolling off his tongue. Victor thanked what ever powers that be that he was close and he let himself go. Warmth spreading through his pants as his cock finally had enough stimulation to blow his load. Victor let out a little whimper, his pants while black, now had a damp spot that Oswald caressed. “Good bitch. Now you can go.”

Butch was smirking at him as the hitman stalked by, “Hey Victor, you’ve got a little something on your face!” Victor’s face flushed. He was well aware of the drying fluids and harsh black lines over his head. Victor couldn’t get out of there fast enough, the combined laugh of Butch and Oswald echoing in his ears as he closed the door behind him. Anger was starting to replace his shame, and his palms itched for something to inflict pain on. The same pain that Oswald had inflicted upon him.


End file.
